The Game Is On, Moffat and Gatiss!
by Ink Spotz
Summary: Two writers, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, decide on a train ride one day that they want to write a show about the modern day Sherlock Holmes. The only problem they face is how to accurately write it. What happens if, on the train ride, they are faced with the great detective and his partner in the flesh and shadow him during his case? Will they figure out how to write the show?
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I own none of what I have written. I have merely written it for people's enjoyment. I hope you all enjoy it. :) **

* * *

Chapter 1

The train rumbled along the tracks as the two writers sat across from each other. The landscape outside the train window was rushing by in a blur of colors as if nature was an artist and had smeared the landscape onto the canvas. One of the writers, who went by the name of Steven Moffat, looked out the window, his eyes studying the landscape as if there was something to be gained from looking at it. In his lap lay a script that he and his writing friend had just finished writing for another television series, but he wasn't concentrated on that. His writing partner wasn't either. Mark Gatiss leaned back in his seat slightly so that he would have a better view out the window too.

"You know what we should do..." mused Mark, trying to cut the silence that hung in the air.

Steven turned his head slightly to look at Mark, raising a brow in question.

"What should we do? What are you talking about?"

Mark removed his eyes from the landscape to focus on the man across from him. A small smile played across his face, sending hints of it to his eyes.

"We've discussed it some in the past," said Mark, trying to leave subtle hints.

Steven understood what Mark was vaguely getting at, and smiled too.

"You mean Sherlock Holmes?"

Mark nodded, his eyes now fully alight with the idea.

"We have discussed the fact that someone should create a modern day Sherlock for so long now,...Why can't _we _be the ones who do that?

Steven nodded, now filled with the excitement and endless possibilities of embarking on such a project.

"You're right. We're both writers after all. We could do it together."

Mark nodded in agreement, allowing his eyes to wander back to the train window again.

"The only thing we need to decide on, besides how we want to portray the great detective in the modern era, is what should his first case be?"

Suddenly, Mark was jolted forward out of his seat. He braced himself on the seat opposite him to keep him from falling completely to the floor. Steven jerked forward too at the sudden stop; both of their scripts flying across the floor, scattering in what appeared to be a million different directions.

"What's going on?" asked Steven as he looked around, wondering why the train had come to a sudden stop.

Before Mark could even attempt to make an educated guess, the door to their train compartment flew open.

"Heads down, gentlemen! Don't raise them!" called out a deep Baritone voice from above them.

Both of them obeyed the voice, ducking their heads even lower, eyes trained on the varnished floorboards of the train.

They could hear a weird squeaking noise beside them. They both dared to turn their heads up slightly to watch as a tall, agile man in a black/gray overcoat swing open their window, and slip his body out the window slightly, dark curls blowing backward in the wind.

"John! Where are you?"

That was when they both noticed the presence of another man in the compartment. He was much quieter than his counterpart. He stood near the door, his dirty blond hair slightly askew on the top of his head. His gray blue eyes scanned the two occupants of the compartment. He then turned to face his partner, who was still dangling halfway out the window.

"I'm right here. What do you need?"

"Isn't it quite obvious, John? The chase is on, and you ask what I need!" The man sighed heavily, popping easily back into the compartment from the window. He held out one of his hands to the man. "I need a gun."

"Ah," said John retrieving a gun from his waist and placing it in the man's hands.

The man quickly laid claim to the gun, flashing John a brief smile.

"Take care of those two," said the man, dismissively waving the gun at them. "Make sure they don't move."

"Wh-what's going on?" asked Mark finally cutting through the silence.

"Question them if you must, John," said the man staring at him and ignoring Mark's question completely, "But don't allow them to leave."

John nodded that he understood the task that he had been given, and watched as the man climbed out the window again. This time the man slid all the way out the window, planting his feet on the window sill, clambering up to the roof of the train.

"What _is _he doing?" asked Steven, daring to raise his head, watching in awe as the man finally disappeared from view.

"He's just being himself," said John, dismissively waving a hand toward the window. He turned his attention toward the two of them, giving them a soft smile. "I apologize for my partner's gruff greeting. You two may sit up now. I merely have a few questions to ask you."

As John walked toward them, he noticed the papers on the floor. He immediately bent down to start gathering them.

"Why did the train stop suddenly?" asked Mark as he watched John neatly stack the papers that had fallen to the floor.

"As part of an investigation," replied John as he handed the stack to Mark.

"An investigation? Really?" asked Steven, intrigued. "What's going on?"

John took up a seat next to Mark and looked at Steven calmly.

"You don't know?"

"No, of course not," said Steven bewildered, "Else I wouldn't be asking."

Mark turned sideways to look at John, his red hair matching the askewedness of John's.

"There is someone aboard this train who has a bomb," said John calmly, as if that was the most common occurrence in the world.

"A bomb?! Then shouldn't it be evacuated? Why are we all still aboard?"

"It is because the person who has the bomb hasn't been alerted of our presence yet," stated John, his eyes resting on the satchel beside Steven, "But they are now."

Before Steven or Mark had time to acknowledge John's glance and correct him, John pulled another gun from his waistband and laid it across his lap.

"Y-You think _we_ are in possession of the bomb?!" asked Mark bewildered, his voice wavering in shock.

"If you wouldn't mind gentlemen, this matter can easily be cleared up if you allow me to look through the satchel."

Steven quickly handed it over to John. He set it on top of the gun on his lap and unclasped the bag. He began to shift through the contents, finally producing a small blue square from the bag. It had a small blinking light on it that John stared intently at. He cursed under his breath as he pocketed the square into his coat pocket.

"I'm sorry gentlemen. It appears as if the true bomber has planted the tracker on you."

John swiftly rose from his seat, handing the satchel back to Steven.

"Where are you going?" asked Mark, looking after him.

"I have to go catch up with my partner, and help him find the true bomber before it's too late."

Mark quickly rose to his feet.

"I want to help."

John stopped in his walk, turning to look at him. Steven got to his feet too to stand beside Mark.

"I would like to assist as well."

"I don't know if my partner would like that that much," said John, glancing at the window as if the man would suddenly appear.

It was as if John was physic, for mere minutes later the man slipped back through the window and back into the compartment.

"The bomb nor the bomber are up there. It hasn't been planted yet, unless they have changed the location which is possible if they were tipped off."

The man's gaze turned to the two standing man as he said "they".

"They're innocent, Sherlock," said John digging into his pocket and handing him the tracker.

Mark and Steven both shared a look, then turned back to stare at the two men.

"Did you..." Steven's voice died out for a second before he continued, "Did you just say his name was Sherlock?"

John turned to look at Steven.

"Yes, his name is Sherlock."

A wide grin soon took over Mark's shocked face.

"May we shadow you two on your case? We're writers and-"

"Writers?!" groaned Sherlock, pocketing the tracker and running a hand down his face. "John, I told you to interrogate them, not turn them into the paparazzi. What did you tell them?"

"I just told them the general facts, Sherlock," stated John.

"No, they may not follow us. You know what I think about the press."

"We aren't writers for the press," spoke up Steven. "We're fiction writers. Screenplay writers to be specific."

"Oh, screenplay writers," said Sherlock in a slightly sarcastic tone of voice as he turned to face them. "Trying to find a plot?"

"Sherlock, they aren't the bombers, nor are they the paparazzi. Give them a break," stated John, giving Sherlock a rather stern look.

"If you'll allow us to explain, we were just talking about creating a show about the modern day Sherlock," said Mark, "and if you would allow us the honor of following you and John today, you'll help us to more accurately portray you on the television series."

Sherlock studied Mark and Steven closely for a minute, silence lingering in the air between them.

"Fine. You may shadow us, but _don't _get in the way," warned Sherlock.

"Come Watson! We're off!"

"Sherlock! Where are you going?" asked John, watching as Sherlock opened the compartment door.

"To find the bomber of course! The game is on, John! Come along!"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"John, you take that compartment," commanded Sherlock pointing his a finger toward the compartment lying to his left, "And I'll take the one over here."

Sherlock was standing in the middle of the dining car, debating a new plan of action. Now that Sherlock and John knew that Steven and Mark weren't the authentic bombers, they were trying to make up for any of the time that they had lost in questioning them.

There were a few occupants scattered throughout the dining car, seated at various tables. They had all paused their meal's progress to stare at the four of them, their eyes wider than their plates. They looked as if they were scared of the four of them, and they probably were for Sherlock and John had yet to put away their guns.

Steven and Mark each had recently acquired a small notepad and were both madly scribbling notes. They both took down all the details such as, how did the two of them exchange conversations? What actions were common for them to perform? They both wrote as much as they possibly could so they would be able to compare their notes later.

"What about them?" asked John, nodding his head toward Steven and Mark who had their heads bent over their notepads.

Sherlock turned to them, furrowing his brows slightly as he puzzled over what to do with them.

"They can help you, John," said Sherlock simply after a moment of thought.

"Both of them? You should at least take one with you, Sherlock," insisted John. "They did want to shadow both of us after all, and you did agree to it."

Sherlock took a deep breath, slowly letting it out through his nose.

"Very well," he said.

He walked closer to the two of them, both of them lifting their heads up from the notepad to look at him as he approached closer.

"I'll take this one with me," said Sherlock pointing a slender finger at Mark. "I have a plan, and it'll require him."

"What plan?" asked Mark, scribbling down the fact that Sherlock could think up plans quite quickly.

"First you have to put that notepad away..." said Sherlock. When he saw Mark open his mouth to protest, Sherlock held up a finger to stop him, "...But only for a short while. I promise. Then you can record as much as you want on those pages to your heart's content."

Mark frowned slightly, but did as Sherlock asked, tucking the notepad into his pocket. Steven quirked a brow as he watched Sherlock slowly circle Mark like a hawk circling its prey.

"What plan are you having Mark help you with?" asked Steven.

"You'll see..." said Sherlock as he paused to stand in front of Mark once more, a small smile on his face. "How are you at acting?"

"Me? Acting?" asked Mark pointing a finger at his chest. "I'm pretty good at it. I've played a few parts now-"

"Perfect," said Sherlock, cutting him off. "You'll do perfectly. John, where are our bags?"

"We didn't bring any, remember? You told me that they would just get in the way of our investigation."

"Bugger," muttered Sherlock under his breath, tilting his head to the side as he lost himself to thought.

Sherlock's eyes wandered behind Steven and Mark to the shocked passengers who were still seated at their tables. Sherlock smiled slowly, moving to walk around Steven and Mark.

"May I borrow your suit jacket, sir?" asked Sherlock politely as he paused to stand in front of one of the passengers.

The passenger's Adam apple bobbed up and down for a second. He quickly gulped, nodding his head slowly.

"Ye-Yes, sir..." He said, quickly slipping out of the suit jacket and handing it to Sherlock.

Sherlock gave him a slight smile, tossing the suit jacket at Mark as he stumbled slightly in an attempt to catch it.

"Try it on. See how it fits," instructed Sherlock.

Mark shrugged into the suit jacket, turning to Sherlock once it was on, waiting for his approval.

Sherlock bit his lip in thought as he walked back over to Mark, finally tucking the gun away.

"That'll do I suppose though..." He reached up to run his hand over the top of Mark's hair, causing it to lay down flat on his scalp, "That's better. Now you look like him. Don't you think, John?"

John looked at Mark, nodding in agreement.

"I do see a resemblance of sorts," said John. "What are you planning on doing with him?"

Steven and Mark each shared a look with each other, both of them still wondering the same thing and wondering also, when they'd get an answer to the inquiry.

"Surely if you can see a resemblance to who I'm referring to, John, then you need no further explanation on the matter," stated Sherlock simply, smiling in satisfaction at the plan he had formulated in his mind.

"Well, I know Mark and I would both appreciate a little light shed on the subject," spoke up Steven as he looked at Sherlock and John.

Sherlock smirked slightly, turning to face the two writers once more.

"Your friend, Mark, looks like my brother, Mycroft," said Sherlock. "I'm going to use that fact to get this train in motion again."

"Why can't you set the train back in motion?" asked Mark. "Aren't you two the ones that had it stopped in the first place?"

"No," said Sherlock, "And yes."

"That makes absolutely no sense whatsoever," stated Steven, crossing his arms to look at the detective.

"Does it make sense to you, John?" asked Sherlock turning to look at him over his shoulder.

"No, it doesn't I'm afraid. I had the same impression as them about why the train stopped. I told them as much," admitted John.

Sherlock let out a small, frustrated sigh, closing his eyes momentarily as if to calm himself.

"How dull it must be in your vacant minds sometimes," said Sherlock finally allowing his eyelids to flutter back open, focusing his blue eyes on the two writers once more. "Shall I explain my reasoning to you then?"

"Yes please," said Steven and Mark at the same time.

Sherlock let out another small sigh, looking at the watch on his wrist.

"I suppose I have a few minutes to tell you the plan I have in mind, and why indeed the train has stopped." Sherlock gestured his hand toward two vacant seats off to the side. "If you two gentlemen would please have a seat, I'll start my explanation in the quickest manner I can possibly muster."

Steven and Mark both took a seat. Steven still balanced his notepad on his knee so that he would be able to take notes; Mark straightened his newly acquired suit jacket slightly, sitting up straighter. John soon took up a seat beside Steven, leaning back as he watched Sherlock pace slightly in front of them, not being able to stand still.

"This train did stop as a matter of our investigation, yet it also did not at the same time. It is true that John and I had both boarded this very train because we were alerted to a presence of a bomber on board. My brother, Mycroft, had tasked John and I to find the true bomber and stop him before he blew up the train, and also to determine the bomber's motive. Seeing as we were completely in the dark once we boarded this train, I went over all the facts of bomb construction with John. We have encountered a few of them throughout the course of our investigation history, therefore we were able to formulate exactly how to go about searching for the bomb almost immediately. There are always trackers of some sort inserted within the actual bomb itself, which helps people to find the bombs if they have the right equipment. Unfortunately, neither John or I had such equipment, therefore I had to place a call to Mycroft. He didn't respond. Apparently he is away on business. So, since I couldn't get a hold of my brother to get the needed equipment, I had to do the only other thing possible in our position."

Sherlock paused in his monologue, turning to face Steven and Mark who both had their jaw dropped as they tried to follow along.

"So, what did you do?" asked Steven, "And how did it eventually lead you to conclude that we might have it in our possession?"

"Ah, now we get to the heart of the matter," said Sherlock, a smile springing to his face. "The only choice that we were left with was to begin searching the passenger's belongings ourselves. Though that may be considered illegal by some, both I and John, after a lengthy discussion, both agreed that it was more a matter of security at that point. So, we began to search the passenger's belongings; searching some without garnering their consent. Luckily, we managed to start searching through the bag of someone who was actually traveling back from bomb training. His equipment was all gathered in the bag. It was such a treasure to find that. I proceeded to hand the reins over to John, since he was the one who had the army experience and would therefore be the most effective in knowing how to handle the equipment. Within no time, John had a signal for a bomb that appeared to be on this very train. _That_, gentlemen, is how we deduced that you two might be the ones with the bomb."

"Yes, but that still doesn't explain why the train stopped," said Mark.

"Of course! Well, as soon as John detected that there was a bomb present on this train, the passengers around us started to panic..."

"And rightly so," interrupted John, noticing the slight sarcastic tone that was appearing in Sherlock's voice.

Sherlock turned to look at John, a small smile working its way onto his face.

"I suppose it was rightly so," admitted Sherlock, "But they really shouldn't have feared knowing that we had the matter firmly under our control."

"Was it the passenger's panic that caused this train to come to a halt?" asked Steven then, stretching the fingers on his hand which had started to hurt from how rapidly he was taking notes.

"Yes. Marvelous deduction!" stated Sherlock as John shot him a warning look as the sarcastic undertone started to reappear in his voice. "The passenger's panic is what caused the train to come to a sudden halt, which of course, bothered me. It was quite a dumb move if I must say so myself. Stopping the train, in my opinion, is what could alert the bombers to our presence and let them know that we were onto them."

"That's why you want me to pretend to be your brother," said Mark, putting the pieces together in his head. "That's why you want me to help you get this train moving again."

"Exactly! You two are catching on now. If we can manage to get this train started again within a relatively short span of time, we might still be able to continue our investigation without alerting the true bombers of any suspicion."

Mark slowly rose to his feet, looking at Sherlock.

"Alright. I'll do as you wish," he said. "I can only hope I'll be convincing enough as your brother."

A wide grin spread across Sherlock's face then, and he gently slapped Mark on the back.

"I'm sure you'll do splendidly as Mycroft! Now come along then! We have a train to put in motion!"

"Sherlock, what about Steven and I?" piped up John.

"You and Steven calm the passengers until we return; help any notions of committing mass hysteria to go away."

John nodded, and Sherlock widely grinned once more. He slung an arm around Mark and started to walk out of the compartment with him.

"Time to play the part of my brother mine, and set the wheels of this investigation back in motion!"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Remember the plan," said Sherlock as Mark and him stood at the door of the engine room.

"Are you quite sure that this plan will work, Sherlock?" asked Mark, turning to look at him.

"What makes you think it won't work?" asked Sherlock.

"Well, for starters, Mycroft didn't board the train with you. Won't it be suspicious if he suddenly appears?" asked Mark.

"No, it won't be suspicious because they have no knowledge that Mycroft wasn't on the train to begin with."

"How is that so? Don't they need to keep track of the passengers?"

"Mark, this is a commuter train, not a private one. They carry so many people throughout the course of the day, I can only rightly assume that they remember only about a third of the passengers on board, and out of the people they remember, they'll only barely be able to recognize them facially."

"Oh," Mark cleared his throat, getting a bit nervous now. "Do you think I'll do alright?"

Sherlock straightened his back, fixating his eyes on the door in front of them.

"I feel as if you are quite capable. It's your job not to prove otherwise."

Mark nodded, taking a deep breath and straightening his posture like Sherlock. He closed his hand into a fist and rapped on the door in front of them. Slowly, but surely, it swung open.

The conductor stood there. His shirt was wrinkled, untucked slightly from the overalls that he had on. His work boots were ratty looking, stained brown as if they had recently trekked through mud.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes," said Mark, butting in before Sherlock could say anything. "I'm here to request that you put the train back into motion."

"Oh really now?" said the conductor, an amused smile spreading across his face. "Why is that?"

"Surely you know who I am," said Mark, adjusting his suit jacket slightly, "And would therefore be able to gather that I have a reason for such a request."

The conductor studied both of them for a moment.

"Look, it doesn't matter who you are, this train is not moving anywhere. There is a panic on board, and this train isn't moving anywhere until the Yard gets here."

"_You _look here. My name is Mycroft Holmes, and if you do not set this train back into motion this very instant, I will call the Yard myself and tell them how you failed to cooperate with a government official."

Sherlock looked over at him, shock slowly starting to become apparent on his face. The conductor in front of them started to mutter under his breath slightly, rolling his eyes.

"I'm going to need some form of confirmation that you are who you say you are," said the conductor after a long pause.

This time Sherlock moved to speak first before Mark could.

"Easily done," said Sherlock as he slipped a hand into his overcoat and fished out what appeared to be a form of ID. "Compare him to it if you must."

The conductor took the ID that Sherlock had produced and held it up. He flicked his eyes from the picture to Mark, and then back again. With a thoughtful hum, he finally handed the ID back to Sherlock.

"Fine, I'll set the train back in motion. However, I'll have to contact the Yard first and let them know..."

"I'll do that," spoke up Mark in an authoritative tone of voice.

"Very well. Go back to your seats then, and I'll have this train back in motion in a matter of minutes."

The conductor turned his back on both of them, and reshut the door to the engine room.

"You did brilliantly!" exclaimed Sherlock, turning to look at Mark with a wide grin on his face.

Mark smiled at Sherlock's praise, nodding.

"I did, didn't I?"

The smile lingered on his face as Sherlock slung his arm around his shoulders and led him away to find Steven and John. As they walked, a question appeared in Mark's mind and he voiced it to Sherlock.

"So, how did you get your brother's ID?"

Sherlock chuckled a bit at the question, turning sideways slightly to look at him.

"That might just be a question better left unanswered."

"Really now?" said Mark, traces of laughter appearing in his voice out of amusement.

"Yes, really. Lets just say that Mycroft has still ceased to find the key to his desk drawer where he kept all of his IDs and passports that may or may not be in my possession."

Mark couldn't suppress the laugh at this point. His laugh vibrated off the walls of the compartment around them as they continued walking, and Sherlock smiled in amusement himself.

The two of them finally managed to catch up to Steven and John who were in the process of trying to calm a woman who was pressed up against the wall, looking like she was about to attempt to climb it.

"Madam, I promise you that there is no need to panic..." said John in a calm, measured voice.

"But...but aren't you the one that discovered there was a bomb on board?" stuttered the woman, her eyes wide with fear.

"Please Madam," interjected Steven. "No one on this train will come to any harm as long as you remain calm."

The woman turned her frightened eyes to Steven, reaching to grip his arm tightly.

"How am I to remain calm in the presence of a bomb?"

Sherlock and Mark stood next to each other, exchanging a look.

"I have an idea, Sherlock," whispered Mark into his ear, "About how to calm the passengers."

"Really?" asked Sherlock, turning to face him. "What plan might that be?"

"We could get all of the passengers to go into one compartment and put on a small skit for them," suggested Mark. "It would serve as a distraction, and get their minds off the fact that there is a bomb hidden somewhere on this train."

Sherlock scoffed at Mark's plan, turning away from him

"We don't have time to try to entertain these passengers," said Sherlock. "We have a case to solve."

"It could also benefit you too, Sherlock," said Mark.

"How so?" asked Sherlock.

"It would make it so that all of the passengers, all the suspects, are in one compartment..." said Mark slowly, knowing it wouldn't take long for Sherlock to catch on.

A smile slowly started to spread across Sherlock's face as he turned to face Mark once more.

"You're a genius!" exclaimed Sherlock quite loudly.

Sherlock's sudden exclamation startled John, Steven, and the woman that they were still trying to provide comfort to. Sherlock wrapped his arms around Mark, hugging him tight for a moment.

"You and Steven could write up something in a rather short span of time, yes?"

"Of course. We could get to work on it now, and have something prepared in a half hour to forty-five minutes," stated Mark.

"Wonderful! Brilliant! Fantastic!"

Sherlock bounced away from Mark, acting as if there were springs on the balls of his feet.

"What's going on?" asked Steven as Mark moved to grab a hold of his arm.

"We have a skit to create," stated Mark with a smile. "Come on."

Steven and Mark walked off to go back to the compartment where they had left the satchel, leaving Sherlock and John alone with the panicked woman.

"Mind telling me what's going on, Sherlock?" asked John, crossing his arms to look at the beaming Sherlock beside him.

"Something truly magnificent is going on, John," replied Sherlock. "Those writers might be just the people to help us solve this case before it's too late."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

When Sherlock and John entered the compartment where Steven and Mark were a half hour later, they were immediately greeted by papers crumpled all over the floor.

"I take it it's not going so well?" asked Sherlock as he raised a brow, looking at Steven and Mark who were both busily writing on sheets of paper they had unearthed from the satchel.

"It's going. It's a process," commented Steven, pausing in his work to pass the sheet to Mark to look at.

Steven turned to face Sherlock and John. John was looking at both of them with a look of utter disbelief, while Sherlock held a crumpled piece of paper in his hand, uncrumpling it to look at its contents. He squinted his blue eyes slightly in order to read what was recorded there.

"'Enter Sherlock wearing a fedora and dark sunglasses...'" Sherlock jerked his head up to look at Steven and Mark. "A fedora and sunglasses? Am I part of the British Mafia?"

Mark chuckled at that comment, finishing composing a line and looking up from the sheet.

"Why do you think we discarded it?"

John wandered over to start gathering the crumpled balls of paper that littered the ground like oddly shaped snowballs.

"Have you managed to come up with _anything _concrete?" asked Sherlock as John laid the balls of paper on a nearby table, uncrumpling some to read the contents.

"We both think we might have something," said Steven.

"It just has to be something short. It's not as if we're about to perform this for a theater," said Sherlock.

"May we read what you have so far?" asked John.

"Of course," said Mark smiling, reaching for the small stack of papers and handing it to John.

John took the stack of papers from Mark and started to look at them. Sherlock leaned over to peer over John's shoulder, quickly reading the text.

"It's quite short..." commented John after a minute.

"We can improv as we go," said Steven.

Sherlock smiled at that.

"Yes, John. We can improv. Surely, you must realize that these two men have the whole matter of composing a script in their capable hands."

Steven and Mark both shared a smile at Sherlock's praise. They both rose from their seats and walked over to John and Sherlock. John had at that point handed the script to Sherlock, and Sherlock was currently studying it closely.

"Are we ready to get things underway?" asked Steven, "Or would you like a practice run through first or something?"

Sherlock looked up from the script then, fixing his gaze on Steven and Mark.

"Of course we're ready. Lets get this underway."

Sherlock didn't move right off, still clearly thinking over something.

"What is it?" asked Mark.

Sherlock slid his eyes to meet Mark, shrugging.

"You're clearly debating something," stated Mark as he stared at Sherlock.

"I'm merely debating on whether this simplistic plan of yours will yield the results I'm hoping for. "

"I'm sure that it will, Sherlock. Have a little faith," assured Mark.

"Oh, I have faith. All I don't have is the trust and pixie dust," he retorted with a slight grin.

Steven, Mark, and John laughed as they all prepared for their short one act play.

* * *

The compartment was filled with all of the passengers on the train. It made for a very stuffy atmosphere; one in which the slightest cough or shift from any member caused a chain reaction of coughing and shifting. Mark and Steven were both standing at the end of the compartment where a small, non inhabited area made up the area for their "stage". Sherlock and John both stood off to either side. Sherlock stood up straight, looking stoic as always, while John kept nervously wiping his hands on his jeans. Sherlock kept shooting glances at John, wondering why he was so nervous. It wasn't like he was about to go to war; it was just a skit.

"Welcome everyone! We're so glad that you could all join us today for our small one act performance. We hope that enjoy what you view."

A small round of applause went out from the crowd already, and Sherlock exchanged a look with John. These people were super happy for being on a possibly bomb inhabited train.

"So, without further ado, please enjoy our skit, 'If It Kills Me'."

Sherlock coughed then, not because of the cough that emerged from the back of the crowd, but because of the title that they had produced for their skit. Mark caught on to what Sherlock was doing, and shot him a look. Sherlock cracked a smile then, chuckling as he walked out into the open space; onto the "stage".

Sherlock walked slowly across the small space that made up the stage with a small handful of papers, casting looks once in a while at the audience. John entered from the opposite side, bumping into Sherlock. Sherlock over dramatically threw the papers up into the air as John bumped into him, causing them to scatter everywhere. Steven and Mark did face palms behind him. That action was really over acted.

"I'm so sorry," said John as he bent to help Sherlock pick up the papers. As Sherlock was bent down, John dug out a knife and pretended to threaten Sherlock with it. Sherlock, being over dramatic once again, made his eyes as wide as quarters.

"Say one word and I'll kill you, understand?" he whispered in his ear.

Suddenly Mark walked out onto the stage, once again playing Sherlock's brother. He stopped in his walk as he saw John and Sherlock kneeling down near the papers together. He didn't notice the knife like it was written in the script.

"Hello, brother mine. Do you need help gathering up your papers?"

Mark was in the process of bending over to help when John hissed in Sherlock's ear, "Tell him to go away, or I'll kill him."

The crowd gasped at what John had said; some placing their hands over their mouths as if they were holding in a cry. Sherlock hid his eye roll and replied, "Don't kill him. Your grudge is with me, not my brother."

"How noble! The noble ones always have a way of being the heroes in shining armor, don't they?"

"What are you two talking about?" asked Mark as he was now bent down next to them.

"Tell him to go away _now_," hissed John again, pretending to look like an angry psychopath.

"Brother mine, we've got it covered...It's alright."

Mark made no move to move and John got angry. He pretended to turn and stab the knife into Mark's stomach. Mark made a pretend gasping noise and collapsed onto the ground. Another round of gasps rose from the crowd.

"I warned you!" stated John, "And now your brother must die!"

"But why? I didn't mean for your sister to disappear!" called out Sherlock. "I didn't think that mission would have been dangerous for her!"

"Who were you to decide? It was her life, not yours!"

As John turned his attention to Mark, Sherlock turned to scan the audience with his eyes. His eyes immediately gravitated toward anyone that was playing with their hands, which was a good majority of them. In his mind palace, he managed to quickly deduce what each person was doing with their hands. Slowly a small smile played its way onto his face. He saw someone near the back of the audience that looked a bit suspicious, playing with a cellular device that looked awful similar to a bomb control.

Steven, who could see the small smile on Sherlock's face, was flattening his hand and repeatedly bringing it back and forth in front of his neck to tell him to drop the smile because in the act his brother was dying. Mark lay on the floor still as John stood above him, pretending to get ready to finish him off.

"All lives end! All hearts are broken!" declared John as he brought the knife over his head.

Instead of turning to stop John from pretending to stab Mark through with the knife, Sherlock slipped forward and started to work his way through the crowd. The suspicious man at the back saw Sherlock's approach and, with wide eyes, turned to quickly flee from the scene. Sherlock was fast on his heels though, and pushed through the door after him.

By this point, John noticed that Sherlock was running off after a suspicious character. He held tight to the knife as he quickly ran after Sherlock. Steven and Mark pushed through the crowd shortly behind John, not wanting to get left behind.

As the three of them left the compartment, all of the passengers swiveled to look after them. After a minute or two of complete silence passed by, a small child at the front of the audience vocalized the thought that was running through everyone's minds as they listened to the distant shouts from the pursuit.

"Is the show over?"


End file.
